For Better or Worse
by Avis Maxima
Summary: AU – Harry Potter's abuse from the Dursleys was more intense than anyone knew. As he entered the magical world, no one suspected the Boy-Who-Lived to be a hardened individual who learned solely how to survive. Slytherin might just be the place to learn.
1. Chapter 1

**OooOoOooO**

* * *

"_Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes–and a nice thirst to prove yourself… You could be great, you know, it's all in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that–_" – **Sorting Hat**; September 1st of 1991

– Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone  
_Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat_

**~0~**

**Prologue: Not the Expected Boy-Who-Lived**

_November 17, 1988_

"What. Did. I. Tell. You?" Vernon gritted out furiously as he dragged his nephew by the elbow.

Panicking, the boy pulled as hard as he could. He needed to get away. It wasn't his fault. Why was his uncle angry? He didn't even do anything other than be there. Dudley was there too but why wasn't he punished?

This was so unfair. Not like this–he pleaded in his mind.

"Please, Uncle Vernon! It wasn't my fault!" The boy begged as he tried to pry off the strong hold of the pudgy man.

"It's always you, you freak! Now what would others _think_? Did you even consider how this will affect us? My family? Have you?" Vernon bellowed almost breathlessly, too angry as he tossed the boy on the floor in the middle of the living room.

The boy held back his sobs from surfacing, his uncle would get angrier and that meant more beatings.

And if there was something he didn't want to experience again, it was pain. But Uncle Vernon knew a lot about inflicting it. He had tried once to run away but the next morning he woke up, he was back in the cupboard with no idea how he got back.

It was so unfair. They should've just let him live on the streets–it looked more welcoming and _free_.

The very reason he was now in this situation was because while the class was being dismissed a while ago, somehow, throughout the teacher's speech, her hair had turned a shocking shade of neon blue. And somehow, it was his fault. Somehow, he was always the one blamed.

"Now," Vernon pulled off his leather belt from his trousers. "I hope I could beat _more_ of that freakishness out of you." He growled as he approached the small tensed form of his nephew.

"I'm sorry." The boy tried feebly but knew it wouldn't cause a difference.

Like how crying wouldn't change anything.

So he just closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

Harry Potter was not disappointed.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_September 12, 1990_

"Where did that bruise come from, Harry?" Mrs. Thompson, his math teacher asked in concern as she tried to touch to his bruised cheek.

He instantly moved out of the way as he stared at the woman suspiciously. She never cared before. Why was she suddenly noticing _now_? Harry had been in her class for two years. He almost wanted to scoff. But Aunt Petunia instilled manners in him.

Or at least, tried to.

"Just got rough with Dudley last night." He shrugged almost nonchalantly, still eyeing her intensely.

"Oh." She seemed almost disappointed.

With that, he left the classroom after his classmates. He almost wished she had pushed harder, demanded answers, something, or _anything. . ._but no.

Just _no_, and it showed how much she cared.

Like how no one ever bothered.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_February 7, 1991_

"Mr. Richards called me into a meeting last Monday." Aunt Petunia started dinner conversation with a scowl.

"What did he want, mum?" Dudley asked through a mouthful of food.

Harry carefully remained silent as he washed the frying pans and some plates on the sink. He already had an idea where this would lead to. Personally, he felt apprehension at what it might entail. But deep down, he felt angry yet anticipating.

"What did you tell him?" His aunt demanded accusingly, her glare directed at Harry's back.

"Nothing. I didn't even talk to him." He answered as casually as he could.

Well, it was only half the truth–he might not have spoken to his Physical Education (PE) Teacher but it was the man who had talked. So technically, he didn't lie.

Mr. Robin Richards had noticed how unusually small he was for his age, how little weight he had, and questioned him about his living arrangements to which Harry responded with something neither positive nor negative.

That way, he won't have to deal with the man's nosiness and his relatives' wrath.

Aunt Petunia eyed him for sometime before nodding hesitantly.

"Make sure it stays that way." She ordered.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_June 23, 1991_

Harry carefully massaged his sprained ankle, ignoring the swelling as he sat in his room–the cupboard.

It was his fault, again. Somehow, it was instilled within his relatives that whenever something bad happened, it was the "freak's" fault. He didn't even do anything to make the glass disappear. He just got the slightest bit annoyed at his cousin for jostling his bruised stomach. Even if it was the pudgy boy's birthday.

So maybe he kind of wished for Dudley to fall on his face. Not to fall through a snake house.

What was odder was how he seemingly understood the snake and vice versa.

Maybe, just maybe, his relatives were right. He was not normal compared to them.

But Harry knew he wasn't a freak either.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_July 24, 1991_

When the letter arrived, Harry had stared at the thick envelope with mixed feelings.

Anger was the most prominent of them–"_The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet. . ._"–and wondered whose idea of a joke this was. It wasn't funny. Not at all since it only brought out a great sense of shame out of Harry and that was one of the things he hated to feel. There was also curiousness but held it in check in place of caution. And slight despair, it meant that someone managed to find out his home life–something that wouldn't make his relatives happy.

Before entering the kitchen, he tossed the letter in his cupboard and decided to worry about it later.

After all, something his relatives knew wouldn't hurt them.

Though it was a different story altogether when they discover this little mishap; Harry just knew that Uncle Vernon wouldn't be so forgiving about the punishment.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_July 27, 1991_

Harry had decided to send a letter back, leaving it in the mailbox and addressed to some sort of school called Hogwarts.

He had stated clearly in the letter how he wasn't interested and demanded if it was their idea of a prank because it certainly wasn't entertaining. He had also subtly threatened them to report to the proper authorities if they send any more of those letters–"_I know you wouldn't want this to get out to public, my uncle knew people at the right places, and he's very sensitive about his reputation so I apologized if he found it in his best interest to speak. . ._"–and had been a little exaggerating about his uncle's connections but Harry just felt it was necessary.

Just as he got back in the living room, watching through the window, Harry watched in slight bewilderment when an ordinary looking brown owl glided through the mailbox–and somehow swiping his reply within–and flew away.

At nine o'clock in the morning. Owls–somehow, hope filled him.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_July 31, 1991_

It was all so surreal.

He had been washing the dishes under the watchful eye of Aunt Petunia after dinner. Somehow, when Dudley accidentally bumped the large stack of dishes on the counter last night, and breaking the lot of them in the process, it was still Harry's fault.

Today was like any other day. It almost didn't occur to him that it was his birthday–and he never celebrated it. As in _never_ that he almost forgot that he even had a birthday to begin with.

It was this thought that brought what little comfort to him.

If he didn't think and care very much about it, he would never know the pain of not knowing to celebrate his own day of birth. The sadness and despair knowing that no one will bother to even remember and that he only had himself to rejoice it with. At least this way, he wouldn't feel the grief and ache he had forcefully squashed years ago.

Life had been easier that way.

So when this large man–when Harry said large, he meant incredibly, bloody _huge_ that would take most of the space in his uncle's garage– barged into their house like he had the right, everything happened too fast and he was left with the feeling of fear, suspiciousness, and frustratingly enough, hope.

Rubeus Hagrid had claimed that magic was real. Hogwarts existed. Harry was a wizard.

And all it had taken to prove that was for the large man to wave his umbrella to conjure fire, give Dudley a pig's tail for stealing Harry's birthday cake (he was surprised, no one ever bothered and since Harry had stopped caring about it long ago, it was hard to give the gratitude the giant man deserved), and transform one of the couches into a large wooden chair fitted for his huge form.

But those weren't the things that convinced Harry the most to attend the magical school.

"Ten months away? So it's also a boarding school?" He had asked and ignored Uncle Vernon's protests about him even stepping his foot there.

"Ye' right 'bout that one." Hagrid agreed, pleased as he saw Harry's face lit up.

"I'll go." Harry simply replied with a small genuine smile on his lips, something that hadn't been seen since he was six years old.

After all, anywhere was better than here.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_September 1, 1991_

"Ron Weasley." The lanky redhead introduced, but his blue eyes hardly left Harry's scar. "So it's true, you really _do_ have the scar!" Ron exclaimed with awe, his mouth agape.

Harry shifted uncomfortably at the unwanted attention.

It was different from actually hearing it from Hagrid from seeing it with your own two eyes. The people back in Leaky Cauldron were shockingly forward in their reverence while students from this magical school were looking at him as if he was a hero in their midst. Not only was it horribly uncomfortable–with no positive affections to ever be directed at him–and confusingly frustrating since they were rejoicing at his survival of the Killing Curse while his parents died. It didn't sound fair. While he had to suffer at his mother's relatives, even the common wizard children–be poor, half-blood, or pureblood (the goblins had brought his position as the Potter Heir into light and had asked him to kindly learn about basic Wizardry customs)–had a much lighter lifestyle than what he had to endure.

If he was really their precious Boy-Who-Lived then why did he have to live the life he had? He was an heir to an ancient and old family yet he was treated like a slave.

In fact, he couldn't understand why Ron seemed to be so obviously envious when people's heads would turn to his direction when they caught the slightest gist of "Potter". But what the redhead didn't realize was how Harry was extremely jealous of the boy's whole, loving, and _alive_ family. Mrs. Weasley was a very caring mother and despite the apparent crisp of second-hand in clothing and possessions, Ron had a healthy, loving family.

Something fame would never be able to replace even in the slightest.

"Yes." Harry finally answered, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes and settled for combing his bangs to cover the scar.

"Wicked." Ron breathed out, eyes wide.

Harry just smiled tightly.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

"You could be great, you know, it's all in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that." The hat stated with all the assurance of having gone through his mind and memories.

Harry thought for a moment. He had half a mind to reject the house due to Malfoy's first impression but Ron was hardly any better by acting prejudiced too to the blonde's family name. Gryffindor sounded much better–not only was it his parents' house but most of his new acquaintances belong to that house now. But if he did that, he would be lying to himself, and forcing himself to something just to be like his parents didn't sit well with him. He was brave, sometimes daring, not entirely chivalrous but he preferred to stay in the background and let people do the work and see where it would benefit his life for good. He already had too many people trying to take advantage of him and his fame–he needed to think for himself this time and not what others think.

How he could live, survive, and fulfil his dreams. Family, happiness, real friends–typical ambition of an abused orphan.

And being in Gryffindor would have people placing their expectations of him as the saviour of their world.

He had been expected to obey before, take punishment without question, and even ignore his own well-being, and he would not let anyone take advantage of him _ever_ again. Not again. Never. Not when he had this opportunity to rebuild his life from scratch, when he could make it better.

But Slytherins were considered dark–Hagrid said so due to You-Know-Who's ascension before.

And the house described Harry's dilemma accurately and were _expected_ to follow the previous dark lord's footsteps. By being the purebloods and snobbish individuals that they were–almost like Malfoy–( judging from Ron's reaction of extreme dislike to the house), it was as if it was only expected of the house to be that way.

With the stigma purely in place, there was no doubt that Slytherin would fight back the only way they can.

That made up Harry's mind quickly and surely.

_Where you think it would be best,_ he replied sincerely but the hat had already seen his decision nevertheless.

"It wouldn't be easy but you'll be the key in removing that stain. Good luck on this path, Harry Potter, I will expect to hear great things from you. And I hope, for both of our sakes, it will be for the better. . . "

Harry smiled genuinely, expecting the answer.

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

Comments are accepted. Leave them as reviews. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**OooOoOooO**

* * *

_Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."_ – **Harry Potter** during the Sorting Ceremony (September 1st of 1991)

_-_ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone  
_Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat_

**~0~**

**Chapter I: By the End, We Almost Regret**

To be honest, Harry hadn't thought that far out.

He had just wanted to be in a house where people would understand the prejudice he saw or the emotion of simply being different. Ron had mentioned nothing alienating of the other houses except for Slytherin.

As silence descended on the Great Hall, Harry would like to pretend that it had nothing to do with his sorting.

Even the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, had paled considerably as she appraised him with widened eyes, shock and slight incomprehension glowing in her strict gaze. The Headmaster just settled with an uncomfortable expression on his face but his bright blue eyes weren't seeing Harry Potter. And Harry had no intention of finding out who or what.

If he had dared look further on the staff table, he would have seen Severus Snape's calculating but resentful stare solely on him.

Harry handed the old hat back to McGonagall who accepted it numbly.

The Great Hall was still engulfed with silence.

No one dared clap or offer applauses like how they did with the previous students who had been sorted.

As Harry approached the Slytherin table, he noticed that only Draco Malfoy looked smug and particularly gleeful–while the rest either ignored him or eyed him warily. Caution highlighted the eyes of those who bothered to notice the raven haired boy. For some reason, the Slytherins looked beyond uncomfortable that Harry Potter now belonged to their house. Even more so on the parts of the first years that had been sorted there before him.

It was more tolerable than the expected adoration and awe from the other houses who looked at him with longing–pleading with him to be on their house written all over their faces.

But the baleful glares from the higher years from his house made Harry suspicious and become guarded.

It wasn't until he sat down that the Headmaster initiated the applause by politely clapping his hands–the students only reluctantly following his lead as they all gazed at Harry with confusion and slight disgruntlement in their faces. Only the Slytherin House refused to even lift their hands, eyes pointedly staring at Harry.

Then a blonde girl with shimmering hazel eyes across from him–a first year, Harry remembered all the names of his year mates as best as he could, Greengrass–started clapping her hands and smiled at Harry with welcome.

Yet her eyes held the tiniest bit of anxiety as she gazed at him.

"Harry Potter." He introduced politely and offered his hand.

For a moment, her brows furrowed as she stared at the appendage as if not knowing what to do. Then she blinked as she tilted her head, then tentatively, holding his hand in her small pale one. Not shaking it.

"Daphne Greengrass." Her voice was akin to a whisper.

So Harry decided to take action and bobbed their linked hands up and down.

Understanding dawned on her eyes as her face slightly brightened. Her smile faltered though as she hesitantly let go, tucking her hand under the table instantly.

He tried to catch her eye but the girl's gaze remained stoically on the table, only the visible nibbling of her lower lip gave away her apparent nervousness.

It wasn't until McGonagall cleared her throat that the sorting continued but it had been more subdued than a while ago. When it was Ron Weasley's turn, the redheaded boy peered at Harry with reluctance, thoroughly befuddled. When his blue eyes clashed with Harry's emerald ones, the boy just stared before slowly looking away–as if he couldn't understand how he should react to Harry now.

"So, you're Harry Potter." A voice stated hesitantly in a quiet volume next to him.

Harry blinked and turned to his side only to come face to face with a boy–with a slightly gaunt and pale face, somewhat sunken gray eyes, and wiry build–who was staring at him with an assessing eye, as if measuring Harry's worth.

Though the boy's face was carefully blank, his sunken gray eyes screamed of uneasiness and agitation.

Coincidentally (–or not?), the whole of Slytherin's (exempting Malfoy) behaviour displayed inconceivable trepidation. Their eyes said it all and it confused Harry greatly.

"I am and you are?" Harry smiled politely though he was growing unnerved by the stares.

Unnerved by the attitude and reactions, he expected civility or some curiosity but definitely not apprehension of this magnitude. From Slytherin no less, with their reputation of ambitious arrogance and going dark–_oh_.

Oh.

Of course, how could he forget the fact that he was supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived?

Harry Potter was supposed to have vanquished You-Know-Who and Hagrid had mentioned that some of the Slytherin members' families were supporters. Was that it? Even though it _partly_ made sense it still puzzled Harry was to why they were looking at him like that–as if he had just predicted their deaths.

For a moment, the boy appeared as if he didn't want to give his name. But he just straightened and looked Harry directly in the eye–

"Nott. Theodore Nott." He introduced almost carefully.

–as if he expected him to recognize the name, to know who he was immediately as soon as he heard.

But Harry did not, he just nodded without knowing the implication of his actions.

And that obviously relieved the boy whose shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, if Harry wasn't watching him closely.

"You're a half-blood," A pudgy girl beside Greengrass stated as a matter of fact, squinting her dark eyes at him. "You're a boy, eleven years old, starting your first year at Hogwarts… like us." Her tone sounded as if she couldn't believe what she just said.

"Er, right." Harry replied awkwardly, what was he supposed to say to that?

"I honestly expected someone who looked more–formidable." She continued uninterruptedly, her words frank and straight to the point and Nott's eyes instantly snapped to her direction.

"Bulstrode!" Nott hissed warningly.

But Harry knew she wasn't insulting him, she didn't sound disappointed, just… mystified. It was exactly as she had said, she had expected someone who looked stronger as evidence of his supposed prowess by being the Boy-Who-Lived.

And yet, Harry was happy to note, she was starting to see him–Harry, a scrawny and awkward kid with the glasses.

"Unlike what others like to think, I'm not some ultimate wizard." He found himself deadpanning, though his eyes were sparkling almost mischievously.

Nott and Bulstrode only stared for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Even Greengrass had dissolved into giggles as she looked up.

"Not bad, Potter. Not bad," Nott praised approvingly, his sunken eyes still guarded but less discomforted. "At least, you're not bound to condemn us on sight." The boy jokingly said it but the seemingly nonchalant statement held an undertone of suspicion while Bulstrode and Greengrass just seemed to straighten in their seats.

"I don't believe that every Slytherin is dark." Harry tentatively ventured, noticing how the three's gazes sharpened. "But then again, not everyone is light either." He shrugged almost unconcernedly, if only he didn't feel any stiffness on his spine.

Nott seemed to be judging him.

"You'll find, Potter, that you're not entirely wrong. Sometimes, it's not even our fault." The boy admitted softly, his face blank and serious.

Harry felt his throat go dry; the loneliness and being different, he opened his mouth to reply–

But varieties of food suddenly popped into existence at the long table, goblets, pitchers, roast chicken, bangers and mash, peas, carrots, roast beef, pork chops, lamb chops, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, ketchup, even mint humbugs…

–and felt his eyes go wide, his mouth watering as he had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table that he almost _cried_.

"Just stop with the mushiness!" Bulstrode scolded almost snidely as she glared. "We didn't hear what the Headmaster just said!"

"Oh come off it, Bulstrode." A dark skinned boy snorted as he sat beside the pudgy girl. "It's not like he said anything ever important. _Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak,_ honestly? He's stark raving mad." He concluded before rolling his eyes.

Harry felt his eyebrows rise but said nothing. He hadn't caught a word of what the Headmaster just said but he did have to give the unknown boy some credit.

"Let's just eat." The unknown boy grunted.

The area around the five of them seemed to quieten that it made Harry nervous.

Greengrass was the first to move though, her wide hazel eyes looking at the absurd amounts of food intensely, as if she expected it to disappear any moments. Harry didn't notice a while ago but she seemed a bit frail, even her hand had been much smaller than his; which was saying something considering his nourishment as he grew up. She visibly swallowed as shaking fingers grabbed a piece of the chicken leg–as it landed on her plate though, the small girl then enthusiastically piled more foods on her plate, roast beef, peas, carrots, gravy…

As she took her first bite, her eyes seemed a bit too bright.

Harry looked away. It was sickening to watch, as if he was watching himself from another perspective.

So he turned to Nott.

The boy was calmer in his reaction but his still widened eyes spoke about something, or rather hinted at. He didn't grab at food with reverence like Greengrass did and certainly didn't eye it as if it will vanish immediately. But as he took his first bite, he certainly looked like he had a hard time swallowing.

Bulstrode and the unknown dark skinned boy didn't comment on it but their expressions were hardened; as if they were trying their hardest to ignore it.

Harry breathed out of his nose loudly as he piled some food into his plate. His expression was determined but as he savoured the taste of the roast beef, he had a hard time preventing tears to brim in his eyes or let out a loud sniffle. Greengrass and Nott seemed resolute not to so Harry did not too.

All his life, his food consisted of scraps or leftovers of his relatives. They were limited at best. And there were times when he simply didn't have much to eat or nothing at all.

Yet, there were so many delicious and scrumptious foods here, he could eat to his heart's content and not be reprimanded for it.

"We haven't introduced ourselves." The unknown dark skinned boy suddenly piped up as his dark eyes found Harry's.

Harry swallowed the food in his mouth first before nodding.

"Everybody seems to know my name but still," He started almost thoughtfully. "Harry Potter."

"Blaise Zabini." The boy nodded almost respectfully, formally even, but the grin that split his face broke the image.

"Millicent Bulstrode," When Zabini eyed her oddly, she shrugged without care. "What? I haven't given him my name. And being referred to solely as Bulstrode just seemed a bit rude." She sniffed irately.

"I don't even think that's polite dinner conversation." Zabini smirked at the pudgy girl.

"Are you insinuating something, Zabini?" The girl's eyes narrowed threateningly, her gaze sharp as it focused solely on the dark skinned boy who tried his best to look innocent.

"Of course not." The boy just replied pleasantly as if they had just talked about the weather.

Harry begun to wonder what the point of the banter was if they would just rather be vague about it, even if it was amusing. But then his eyes shifted to Nott who was smirking to himself and Greengrass who had a faint smile on her lips as she shyly offered Bulstrode a bagel who accepted it gratefully without a word. And he understood.

Just as he turned back to his plate, a bagel appeared within his vision. He looked up at the timid face of Greengrass as she offered him a bagel as well.

He accepted it with a smile and decided that this might be for the best.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

Harry had completely forgotten about Draco Malfoy.

It wasn't until they were walking out of the Great Hall to get to their living quarters that the blonde boy appeared again. This time, Harry honestly didn't know what to do about him. He had been slightly irritated about Malfoy's arrogance and downright disgruntled at the way the boy always expected to get what he wanted.

"So Potter, I never pegged you to be a Slytherin." Malfoy casually remarked as he blocked Harry's path.

Greengrass instantly stiffened beside him as her widened eyes focused on Draco.

He didn't understand what it really meant but Nott was suddenly pushing her behind and blocked her from Malfoy's view. Bulstrode and Zabini, who had been walking ahead, stopped and turned around to see what kept them.

"The hat seemed determined that I'll make a better Slytherin than a Gryffindor." He shrugged as he chose his words carefully.

It was not best to make enemies so early within the house especially when most Slytherins were treading their way warily around him while others didn't even bother to hide their contempt against him.

"Good, you wouldn't want to be seen around those Gryffindorks, especially that Weasley." The blonde boy spat as if he had eaten something foul.

"I don't think there's something wrong about them." He deliberately raised his eyebrows.

Malfoy sneered.

"They are a bunch of arrogant, stupid, and reckless fools. Would you want to associate with them?" Malfoy frowned as he stared at Harry.

"Did you see that for yourself or did you hear it from someone else?" Harry didn't even know why he was trying, Malfoy was a git–he had caught Ron's eye earlier and the redhead uncomfortably tried to ignore it ever happened.

"I heard it from my father–"

"No one wants to know what Malfoy Senior thinks, Draco." Zabini interjected as he and Bulstrode finally walked to them. "Potter here is simply asking what _you_ think."

For a moment, Malfoy didn't answer and appeared as if he didn't even want to.

But then, he straightened and glared at Zabini with contempt before sweeping out of the Great Hall to follow the other Slytherins, the two large boys who had been with him trailing behind.

"You shouldn't have done that." Harry commented to Zabini.

Nott snorted derisively.

"Of course, he shouldn't. But Malfoy wouldn't leave you alone if he didn't." He stated before peering at Greengrass with irritation. "Stop reacting like that to him. You'll be an easy target." He admonished almost heatedly, his eyes narrowed.

Greengrass tried to return the glare but just ended up looking away.

So Nott just sighed in frustration before walking off, as if he never interacted with them in the first place.

Harry would soon learn, in order to survive Slytherin, one would need power.

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

_"I am Severus Snape, Potions Professor and your Head of House. There are certain rules that I must insist upon you. We Slytherins present a united front. Whatever petty arguments or grudges you have with one another does not leave the common room. Publicly, I only award points. But be warned that I would do so irrevocably once you have proven to deserve it–in private, of course–and I will be merciless about it. I expect great things from you, therefore, I will anticipate high grades from your end as I will not tolerate anything less than an Acceptable. We are supposed to be the house of cunning, if you are involve in any activity not approved by the school, directly or indirectly, I will advise you not to get caught because you will not have my support. And use those supposed ambitions in those miniscule things you call brains to get ahead. Any violation of the rules that I had set before you would earn not only detentions but severe loss in points. Remember that–this house will be your family in arms for the next seven years so I presume you to act as such. With that, I welcome you, to Slytherin House."_

**X**oo**X**o**X**oo**X**

As Harry walked to the Great Hall that early morning, Greengrass was the only first year in sight at the long table.

He expected her to be with that huffy brunette girl last night who had accosted her after dinner back at the common room–someone named Davis.

Then remembering the glares she threw afterwards at the blonde, Harry felt stupid for even wondering.

The others were still mostly asleep since it's still a good three hours before class starts. The Hall even seemed a bit scarce than last night. Though he had a sneaking suspicion that Nott was already awake but had just wanted to avoid Harry. The boy hardly spoke last night to him and even if he did, he was less forthcoming with answers and always pretended to be distracted. Harry didn't know what to make of him– they looked like they were on good terms last night.

Or at least, he had thought so, Harry amended.

Without pre-empt, he casually sat across Greengrass who certainly appeared to be an early riser–bright eyed and certainly out and about.

"Good morning," Greengrass greeted quietly, her voice holding a tiny sliver of warmth that it almost surprised him.

Harry nodded as he grabbed a plate and piled some pancakes on it–also careful to nick some eggs and bacons along the way–and gazed up to see Greengrass grab another batch of waffles after he saw her just finish her last bite earlier.

Glazing it with honey, the blonde ate her waffles swiftly and without pause. Even though she didn't devour her breakfast like a pig, something could still be said about the way she ate.

He inwardly shrugged as he didn't dare question her about it. Harry knew the signs.

And those were just the things you simply do _not_ talk about–

"You know, I sometimes think I'm still dreaming." Greengrass remarked after she swallowed, her eyes never leaving her plate. "It's sometimes hard to believe, isn't it?" She questioned softly, albeit a little bitter.

–or unless the other initiated the topic.

"Yeah, the food here is really good." Harry responded genuinely with a shrug.

"I commented about it as well to Pansy Parkinson last night." Greengrass shared as she took a big bite of her honey-glazed waffle.

Harry suddenly dreaded as he put down his fork.

"What did she say?" He asked carefully since he didn't want her freaking out on him–he would certainly lose his temper if ask the wrong way.

The blonde girl just chuckled humourlessly as she swallowed her food.

She first drank some pumpkin juice from her goblet before finally addressing him again.

"That I obviously haven't been to any decent food establishments if I would consider Hogwarts food to be delectable." Greengrass shrugged and with her blank expression, one would say that she hardly cared.

Harry knew that closing off meant hiding.

But it didn't excuse the statement from receiving some of his ire. It obviously struck a nerve–one he had been willing to overlook since last night.

"Well, not every one of us are purebloods who could afford everything." Harry found himself stating scathingly as his fist clenched.

She looked at him strangely, as if he had mentioned something outlandish. She also appeared to want to say something about it–even going as far as to open her mouth–but eventually decided not to as she concentrated on finishing her breakfast.

Breakfast then was a quiet affair after that.

But the conversation made Harry wonder why students from other houses think differently of Slytherin–so far, they were just like everybody else.

No one was saved from reality.

* * *

AN: Thank you for the reviews. The real interaction with Snape will happen on the next chapter. I'm taking it rather slow as I want to establish their characters first. Some of you may comment on Daphne since she's FF's Ice Queen mostly. But I don't think that actually suits an eleven year old girl so early on. Anyway, I've tweaked with her history and the others' too. Let's see what being a Slytherin will teach them as time flies by. I am honestly interested about that. Thanks again and hope to see more reviews. :)


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